


No Assistance Required

by aravenwood



Series: Nicky Has Anxiety [6]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anxiety, Hurt Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Hurt Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova has an Anxiety Disorder, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Has Anxiety, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Returning to Malta (The Old Guard)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Nicky dreams of Joe being kidnapped and wakes up alone. It's hard to tell with dreams like theirs when something is real and when it's not, and Nicky finds himself panicking as he tries to figure out what to do.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Nicky Has Anxiety [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908736
Comments: 18
Kudos: 209





	No Assistance Required

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HunterusHeroicus93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterusHeroicus93/gifts).



> Hi! So, it's been nine days since the end of Whumptober and I've finally gotten a tiny bit of my writing ability back. I wanted to write more for this series and remembered a suggestion I got in the comments of a previous part for Nicky dealing with a panic attack alone. This was weirdly a difficult fic to write, especially the second half of it. 
> 
> TW for panic attacks.
> 
> Please enjoy!

_It’s a warm autumn night in Malta and Joe is being followed._

_He’s sure of it, he can feel eyes on him from all directions and he’s caught glimpses of shadowy figures disappearing behind buildings the moment he turns his head. His heart is racing as he quickens his pace, glancing anxiously around at the people nearby - innocent people, residents and tourists alike, and he’s putting all of them in danger simply by being there._

_Malta is supposed to be safe. It’s supposed to be a getaway, a much-needed break for he and Nicky to recover from the constant stress and anxiety of the last few months. It hasn’t been easy with a newly mortal Andy and a newly immortal Nile, both of them doing their best to cope with the circumstances but struggling in their own ways. Just like it hasn’t been easy coping with the empty chair during every meal, the books written in French which have been left scattered around every safehouse, the silver flask with the initials S.L.L Joe found tucked down the side of Booker’s favourite chair. There’s new reminders every day about how different their lives have become, about what they’ve lost and what they’ve gained and no matter how Joe looks at it, one constantly outweighs the other._

_That’s why Malta was on the cards at all. It’s been his and Nicky’s sacred place for years now, with their own secret little safehouses tucked into every corner of the island. It’s an escape, a place where they’re not mercenaries, they’re not killers, they’re not even immortals. They’re just…themselves. And right now, that’s what they need._

_Except there’s someone behind him now, not even bothering to hide. He can hear their footsteps, can feel their gaze burning into the back of his head, and he knows that the innocent bystanders aren’t going to stop this person from doing whatever it is that they want to do._

_His palms are sweating at his sides and he can hear his breaths coming a little faster than usual. Is this what Nicky feels like, he wonders, just before one of his attacks. Is that what’s happening now? No, he doesn’t have time to panic, he needs to do something to save these people. He can’t let them get caught up in this…whatever it is._

_He veers left, off the main street and down a narrower lane. There are fewer people here but still enough that his heart doesn’t settle. Glancing over his shoulder to ensure that the stranger is still following - he is, and joe can see now that it’s a man dressed in a dark suit with a pair of sunglasses perched on a large, beaklike nose - Joe turns right into another street. This time it’s practically an alleyway, the walls so close together that he can stretch his arms out and touch them with little effort. But at least it’s empty._

_A man appears at the other end of the alleyway before Joe’s even halfway down it. He’s dressed identically to the man behind Joe and even has the same bald head. Behind him comes a second man, then a third, then a fourth, all in the same dark suit and glasses. Joe feels his steps falter at the sight, suddenly painfully aware that he’s an idiot for leaving his gun back with Nicky-._

_Oh god. Nicky. What if they’re after him too? He was so exhausted when Joe left that he barely even stirred as a blanket was draped over him or as a soft kiss was pressed to his forehead. What if he’s still so deeply asleep that he hasn’t realised the danger he’s in? Or what if he’s already been taken?_

_“What do you want?” Joe snaps, fighting to keep the wobble from his voice. He narrows his eyes and clenches his fists; he has to pretend that he’s armed, that he’s not stupidly vulnerable right now._

_The men don’t say anything, just reach behind their backs and pull matching pistols from their waistbands, each equipped with a silencer. A quick glance over his shoulder tells Joe that the man who followed him is doing the same. Five guns all aimed at him, and him with nowhere to go._

_But he’s not going down without a fight._

_As soon as the first man is within reach, Joe swings around and punches him in the side of the head. The man staggers and goes to reach his gun but Joe is faster - he grabs the man by the collar and throws him bodily into the stone wall. The impact is loud and sickening, the sound of bone crunching under intense force. But Joe doesn’t care, just shrugs off the twisting in his stomach from the noise._

_As he spins around to face the next man, the first bullet enters his shoulder._

_He grits his teeth against the pain and lunges for the man who just shot him, twisting the man’s arm until bones start to creak and the gun falls to the ground. Wrenching the man forwards, he slams his forehead into the man’s in a violent headbutt that has his own vision exploding into stars. He shakes his head as the man goes limp in his hold, and tosses him aside like he’s nothing._

_The second bullet hits his left hip. He staggers and lets out a hiss as his leg threatens to buckle. Not now, not yet, still too many guys._

_He reaches for the fallen gun but as he does so, he feels the bite of a third bullet enter his back. His legs do buckle this time and he slumps to the ground on numb legs. Fuck, they’ve hit his spine, he thinks as he tries desperately to move his legs. They don’t so much as twitch no matter how hard he tries._

_“Take him,” one of the surviving men growls as he kicks the gun Joe had been trying to grab out of reach. With the sunglasses, his expression gives nothing away - it’s like the man isn’t even human, unfazed by the death of two of his colleagues. This is just a job to him, and Joe is just a package._

_As Joe opens his mouth to threaten violence on the man, a foot comes down on his stomach and suddenly he can’t breathe as it crushes his ribs against his lungs. Can’t move because of the injury to his spine. He can do nothing but lie there on the ground as one of his attackers looms over him, aims a gun at his head…and fires._

_-_

Nicky gasps himself awake, already mid-panic attack as his body clings to the remnants of Joe’s pain and fear and fuels his own terror. Every emotion is overwhelming, a physical force which fills his chest and leaves behind no room for air. “Joe,” he chokes out between gasps as tears pour down his cheeks. Not Joe, please not Joe. Malta is supposed to be their safe place, the one place where who and what they are doesn’t matter. No one is supposed to find them here.

And yet…they have.

He forces himself upright in a desperate attempt to find more air but ends up slumped over with his elbows braced on his knees and his fingers tangled in his hair. He’s shaking, full body tremors which have his teeth chattering and his fingers spasming - with every twitch his fingers tighten around chunks of hair and if he wasn’t so overwhelmed, he’d be worried about ripping it out. But he doesn’t care, doesn’t care about anything but the fact that Joe’s in danger, Joe’s been taken, and it’s all because he was on his own.

All because Nicky needed to sleep.

A gut-wrenching sob bursts from his mouth, so violent and sudden that he chokes on it, and then it’s as if that sob has opened up the gateway because suddenly he can’t stop crying. It does nothing to help his already desperate struggle for air.

He shouldn’t be crying, he knows this - he should be calling Andy and Nile, making sure that they’ve not been attacked too and telling them about what he saw. But as soon as he considers it for even a moment, his anxiety latches on to the very real fear that he’s the only one left, that Nile and Andy have been taken too. It’s irrational, he knows that - they’re so far away that it would take some serious planning and coordination to grab all of them - but it’s all he can think about.

Joe gone.

Nile gone.

Andy gone.

Maybe they’ve even managed to grab Booker…

He chokes on another sob. He’s the only one left, he knows it.

But then, a tiny little voice in his head - one that sounds suspiciously like Joe - speaks up. If he’s the only one left then they’re depending on him to be strong and calm and capable. If he’s like he is now, if his panic is this debilitating, then he’s useless to them. They may as well be gone for all the good he can do. He needs to be strong for them. For all of them.

He focuses on his breathing, on the violent heaving breaths which do nothing to clear his head. That needs to stop. He forces his fingers to unclench from around his hair and pushes himself upright, his elbows straightening as he pushes open palms into his knees to straighten his posture. Deep breaths, he thinks. In…and out.

It’s easier said than done, much easier. The first time he tries to count to three as he inhales, he barely gets past one before he exhales with a violent splutter and his breaths speed up again. He finds himself trying to double over, to curl up and let his panic attack run its course and exhaust him, but he can’t do that. Not now.

So he tries again. In for three; one, two-. All the air leaves his breath in a shuddering exhalation.

In for three; one, two, three-. As soon as he hits three, he breathes out all in one go. Not perfect but it’s something.

One, two, three… He holds it.

Out for three. One, two, three.

Good, the voice that sounds like Joe says. Again.

He does it again. And again. And again. He has no idea how much time has passed by the time his head stops spinning and his chest no longer feels like it’s on fire. It’s even longer before every breath is soft and steady, and longer still before he can stop crying.

I’m proud of you, the Joe in his head says. Now Andy.

His hands shake as he climbs to his feet and reaches for his cell phone - he falters when he sees Joe’s gun on the table and has to focus on his breathing for a full minute to prevent another meltdown. Call Andy, the voice says again, soft and gentle and encouraging. Just call her. She’ll be fine.

He’s halfway through dialling the number when the front door opens and Joe walks in, a loaf of bread and a carton of milk under one arm. “Oh, you’re awake! I expected you to be-!”

Nicky throws himself at Joe, his phone crashing to the ground and his sobs starting anew. “Tesoro! I thought you were gone, I thought they’d taken you and they’d taken Andy and Nile, I saw you-I saw you getting hurt and I saw them take you and-!”

He’s cut off by hands on his shoulders manoeuvring him so that Joe can easily look at him. “Deep breaths, hayati. In and out. Slow down and talk to me, ok? Come, let’s take a seat,” Joe says softly and guides Nicky to the sofa. “Ok, what happened?”

Nicky takes in a deep, shuddering breath and forces himself to speak slowly. “In my dream, you were…they took you. Men in suits, they attacked you. You were hurt. They were going to take you away. I thought you were gone,” he explains between breaths, his voice cracking on every other word.

“Ah, fuck,” Joe whispers and pulls him in for a hug. “Habibi, it was a dream. Just a dream. It’s so hard to tell the difference, isn’t it? To figure out what’s real and what isn’t.”

He’s right. This isn’t the first time one of them has panicked over a dream of the other being injured or killed. Far from it. But that doesn’t make this any easier.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t here when you woke up, that must have been awful.” Joe hesitates. “Did you..?”

“I had a panic attack.”

Joe’s quiet for a full minute, his body tense against Nicky’s. Nicky doesn’t even breathe as he waits for Joe to respond - he knows how much Joe hates it when he’s not there for one of Nicky’s attacks and someone else has to help him, but being alone? That’s something that hasn’t happened in a long time.

“Nicky,” he finally says, “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here. You got through it on your own?”

Nicky nods.

“I am so proud of you. You’re amazing, you really are,” Joe says and kisses Nicky’s cheek, then his forehead, then his lips.

Nicky says nothing, just presses himself tighter against Joe. “I hate those dreams,” he finally sighs, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Me too,” Joe murmurs, and he holds Nicky tightly in his arms with no intention of letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
